The Past: Grace's Story
by Eve215
Summary: What was the traumatic event that happened in Grace's past? What does she have in her house that makes her feel completely safe and completely crazy at the same time? And why won't she let anyone in to see? Rated T.
1. Prologue

_A/N: So, this is a very short chapter. A sniplet if you will. To be honest, my muse has left me. I don't know where she went. I think she is stuck somewhere walking up to Jane's house in 'For Every Evil' LOL. But I'm trying to get her back. Anyway, this story has been rolling around in my head for a long time, actually since Bloodshot last season. This is a Grace/Jane story (now whether it be a romance or a friendship, I ain't tellin' yet LOL). So be warned. And yes, I realize that this A/N is longer than the chapter. It will get longer._

_Disclaimer: I own my new car. I own my house (well I'm paying on my house). I don't own the Mentalist. If I did, I'd have a bigger car and a bigger house._

**The Past**

Grace's Story

_Chapter 1: Prologue_

I have to say, things hadn't ended up like I had expected. Especially not on this day. This day which had years ago brought me such joy and happiness, now brought with it depression and tears along with a lifetime full of 'what might have been's.

I am happy most days. Or at least, I can pretend to be happy. I can plaster a smiling grin on my normally pale skin, place some makeup to conceal the black circles beneath my eyes, and pull my long red hair back into a pretty silhouette. Some days, I can even convince myself that I'm happy. On those days, I cry the hardest at night.

The people I work with think they know me, but they don't. Not even the amazing Kreskin himself, Patrick Jane, realized exactly what laid beneath my fragile exterior. Oh sure, Jane thought he knew everything about me. He even commented one time about how I had a trauma sometime in my past that I had never spoken to anyone about. And he was right, but not even he had sensed what that trauma really was, or how much it eerily parallelled his own traumatic nightmare.

And not even I would have imagined a week ago... a day ago... heck even a few hours ago, that the same Patrick Jane who thought he knew so much about me, would be holding on to me in my bed, filled with a new understanding for my pain and loss, holding back his tears along with me.

But the end isn't, of course, the beginning of this tale. To understand how we got here, we have to go back. Truthfully, if told correctly, we should go back about 14 years to when I was fifteen and met a young (and vigorously handsome) Tristan Saunders. But for our purposes, we'll just go back nearly twenty-four hours to a little after eight a.m. when I entered CBI headquarters on the ninth anniversary of the worst experience of my life.


	2. That Day Again

_A/N: I'm sorry this took so long to update. I have it all written (well most of it), I just had to type it. I am snowed in today and instead of cleaning, I thought I'd type LOL. I hope you enjoy it. BTW, I don't know a lot about Grace's past, etc. In this story, she moved to CA from Iowa when she was 15._

_Disclaimer: I own my notebook and the pen I used to write this. Other than that.... nope. Not mine._

Chapter 2: That Day Again

November 10, 2009: 8 a.m.

Walking into the CBI building today was an exercise in torture. Last year, I was sick (Thank Goodness). Now, I'm not exactly sure if the sickness was from actually _being _sick or from the nerves I have ever year on this day causing my stomach to knot and cramp violently. No matter the cause, last year I spent this day I dread above all days bowing to the porcelain god in my apartment, praying that the day would just end so I could get on with my life for another year.

Although I woke up feeling just as sick this year as last and just as nauseous, I knew I couldn't miss work on the same day as I did the year before (and truthfully the year before that... and the year before that... and the year before that.... at different work places). This was only my second year with the CBI unit so they, of course, didn't know about my November 10th absence rate, but if I continued the same tradition, they would. That would be too much of a coincidence, especially for a 'psychic'.

I didn't want to have to deal with this today, but I knew that going in and at least trying would be better than staying home and having to deal with the knowing glances Jane would give me tomorrow. I wasn't sure if he would say anything to me directly (who knew with Jane, right?), but why chance it? The day was Hell enough without dragging it out.

So because of Patrick Jane (or the fear of his abilities really), I made myself get ready and go to work.

I arrived at my desk about five minutes after arriving at the CBI headquarters after a brief pit stop into the ladies room to let my stomach remove the contents of the breakfast I knew I shouldn't have tried to eat. Luckily, I had my toothbrush with me so I could be ready for the day. I felt like a pregnant woman with morning sickness. That thought made me throw up again.

It had taken much longer than normal to get ready this morning because I felt I had to find something 'appropriate' to wear. You would be surprised how hard it is to find something that screams "I'm fine!". Sure, me and Wayne had just broken up a week or so ago so I'm sure I could have gotten away with "I'm so depressed.", but, really, who wanted an ex-lover/co-worker to think you weren't over them?

Truthfully, I had only myself to blame for our break-up. When a relationship is one sided, broken up is the only way it can end. Wayne started to question why he couldn't come to my house. Why we always went to his? He started asking too many questions that I wasn't ready to answer. Even after nine years, I'm still not ready to talk about it.

I missed Wayne, I did. I missed companionship and not being alone all of the time. I missed having someone to talk too. But it was those darn questions he kept asking that started making me feel uncomfortable. And when he constantly started bringing up coming to my house, I decided enough was enough.

No one came to my house. No one. No way. No how. My home (and truthfully I) was waiting for someone who wasn't coming home. If anyone saw it, they would think I was crazy. More times than not, I certainly did.

I was hoping that Wayne hadn't said anything about my craziness to the others, and so far I am fairly certain that he hadn't. I will be grateful for him for keeping that to himself forever.

The day slowly drew by, minute after agonizing minute. But, to my surprise, I didn't think of him (or her) every minute. Sometimes, my mind got so preoccupied with work that I'd go a whole five minutes without thinking of them. Then my hand would automatically go to my neck. I'd feel my necklace and nearly lose it again. I was starting to get angry with myself. It had been nine _years_! When would I get over it? When would the pain go away?

At around 1 p.m., Wayne brought me coffee. Even though he had no idea about me or my past, he was still nice, and probably a little worried about me. I hoped I was pulling off 'sane'. Wayne's compassion was sweet, but sweetness from a man wasn't something I wanted to deal with today. I half wished Jane would do something to annoy me, just to get my mind off of things. And he didn't disappoint, just not right then.

If we weren't on any very active cases, we were allowed to leave at five p.m., not that anyone usually left then. Cho normally finished up paperwork. Wayne would hang around, like me, not wanting to be the first to leave. Lisbon had lots of 'boss' work to do, and Jane, well, I'm sure he stayed all night on a few occasions. To each his own. I'm definitely not one to judge if he didn't want to go home some nights.

It wasn't like that with me. I _wanted_ to be around my memories. I _needed_ them. But then again, my spouse hadn't been murdered by a psycho. Even still, it didn't make his death any easier or my coping with it any better.

Unlike normal, I left the CBI building right at five. Nosey Jane be darned. I had been a good girl. I had dressed my best. Smiled appropriately. Acted as happy as I could when I thought I should, but I found myself playing with the necklace _he _gave me more and more frequently. Different tell-tale signs that I knew Jane would pick up on if he were paying attention. Not that I was sure he was. Lately, he'd been consumed (or rather more consumed) with the Red John case. Ever since he had struck the CBI, Jane had been a man with a one track mind. Lisbon, of the same token, had her hands full trying to cope with Boscoe's death and the loss of Minelli. As I left the CBI headquarters that night, I had hope that the other members of the team had been too preoccupied to notice me.

I had been wrong.


	3. That Crazy Fried Chicken

_A/N: I am SO sorry this has taken so long to update. I have a really good reason. I promise. I am 15 weeks pregnant (yay!) and the first trimester was heck with morning sickness, food aversions, it was yucky. The second trimester isn't all that different LOL except I don't have the all day sickness like I had before so I am actually able to sit down and write (yay again!). Anyway, I'm not going to sit and tell you that this is the best story you have ever read (I'm not kathiann, so you know it would be a lie), but it is something that got stuck in my head and I'd like to get it out (once you read it, I'm sure you'll understand). All mistakes are mine..... I hope there aren't too many._

_Disclaimer: I don't own them. There would be a lot of changes to the show if I did LOL._

* * *

**The Past: Grace's Story **

**That Crazy Fried Chicken**

Thanks to the Sacramento traffic, I finally arrived home a little after six p.m. The sun was starting to set, and I was thankful that this blasted day was nearing its conclusion.

I opened the door to my modest apartment and laid my keys on the table next to the door. My apartment building was a one story, brick structure with four apartments rented out. Mine was the one on the right corner. Since Tristan and I were the first people to rent, we got to take our pick. I think we had made an excellent choice. Even now, I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. The one on the end had seemed perfect.... and it was. It had a small living room (just big enough for a starting family) right in front of the entrance. Through the living room was a door frame which led to the dining room that was open to the kitchen to the left. A white wall full of my most cherished memories separated the living room from the kitchen. A little hall continued on passed the kitchen and led to two bedrooms on the left and a full bath on the right.

It was small, but it had been just right for us.

I fell back into one of the two large leather recliners which were both to big for the room (but that Tristan had insisted on). I took a few minutes to close my eyes and catch my breath. I had done it. I had made it through a November 10th without going crazy (so far). I had made it to work which had been a feat unto itself and had actually done a decent job. I'm sure I'd have to go back and fix some things on my reports tomorrow, but that wasn't the point. The point was that maybe I was getting better..... just maybe.

Tiredly, I pulled off my work shoes and put on my comfortable pink slippers. Now was the moment of truth, and I knew it. I had been a good girl all day, but now I was at home. Now it was just me and my memories. What did I do? Did I go to the kitchen and fry some chicken and make the same meal I had every year for the past nine years? Or did I take my ability to make it through work as a sign and move forward? Did I finally get it through my thick skull that they weren't coming home?!

_Screw it!_ I screamed inside my own head. I _had_ been good, but I was home now. I couldn't let the day go without doing something. After all.... it might happen tonight... it might.....

Frustrated beyond belief, I found myself in the kitchen the chicken was in the frying pan and the potatoes and corn were cooking. While that was cooking, I took some time to go into the bedroom and change into a gray t-shirt and pink plaid pj bottoms. It wasn't the same outfit I wore last year or the year before that. That was progress... right?

I re-entered the kitchen and turned my chicken, checked my rolls in the oven, and stired my corn. Over the counter, my eyes rested on my dining room... specifically my dining room table. This was one of the rooms, one of the reasons, no one was allowed in my house. The rest of my house had changed some, but not this room. This room was frozen in time, waiting for a dinner and would always come... and a family that would not. Shaking myself out of my head, I plated the meal (way too much food for one person, but that was the point, wasn't it?) and moved it to my dining room table. I placed the dishes gingerly amid the plates, chargers, glasses, and fall leaf centerpiece that never moved.

Never.

Dust had accumulated over the years and once, three years ago, I tried to pick them up and clean. However, the sight under the chargers, the circle of bright color of the orange table cloth amid the dulling, dingy, faded-out color made me run to the bathroom and be sick again. It was a visual reminder that it had actually been a long time since they were supposed to come home and had yet to make it. I hadn't touched anything on that table since then. One thing, though, I had to clean, and keep clean I did. That one thing sat directly beside my chair. No child could have a dirty high chair, could they? The baby would get sick. So amongst all of the dingy, cobweb ridden plates, sat a perfectly pristine pink high chair.

So, I sat like I did every year. Waiting. All the while feeling like a complete and utter loon, but unable to help myself at the same time. I felt compelled to relive that night, that night_mare_, over and over again until maybe, just maybe, things would turn out the way they were supposed too. Maybe the knock on my door would be Tristan coming home, forgetting his house keys and having Krista in his arms. Maybe this would be the year that it turned out right. That it would be Tristan knocking instead of that cop--- that cop dressed in his best blues telling me----

_Knock. Knock_

The sound, the knocking, real knocking instead of imaginary knocking that I always heard inside my head, caused me to jump out of my skin. No, it couldn't be. No. Not after all of these years. Not after everything that had happened. It couldn't be him, could it? Tristan and my baby? For a brief moment I was transported back to 2000 and I was convinced that the knock had to be him.

_Another knock._

I smiled. Silly Tristan. He'd forget his head if it wasn't attached.

The sensible part of me (and believe me, there wasn't much left) kept trying to tell me to calm down. To breathe. It couldn't be them. But hope springs eternal, as they say, and the saying was definitely true on my one crazy day.

I raised from my kitchen chair on shaky legs, and made my way to the door. My heart raced so hard it hurt my chest. This was it! My smile widened. They were home. It was no longer 2009 for me. It was the year 2000 and my husband and my baby were home!

I seemed to float to the door and held the knob, fixing to turn it. But I took a second to listen. The knocking stopped and my heart sank. I was instantly transported back to 2009 and all of the hurt, anger, and pain flooded all back and whacked me upside the head. They were gone-- of course they were gone-- and they weren't coming back.

When I heard the knock again, I lost myself for a minute. Without thinking I swung the door open with a joyous heart and butterflies in my stomach. "Tristan!" I exclaimed loudly, throwing myself into his arms.

He held me for a second, patted me on the back, and I was home.

"No, Grace. Jane."

My eyes opened then, and I saw blond curls in my peripheral vision. Tristan had deep, rich brown hair. Krista had taken after him.

It was Jane. Jane. Not Tristan. Of course, not Tristan. How stupid, how crazy could I be?

I felt all of the air swoosh out of me, and I my vision started to tunnel. My legs felt weak and the floor gave way, but I wouldn't let myself faint. I was back to myself now, and I wouldn't fall apart. Not in front of him.

I backed away as quickly as my shaking self would allow me, folded my arms tightly around me and stared at the man in front of me. A man so unlike Tristan it was laughable. I stepped back into the door frame when my whits finally came back full force and closed the door as closely as I could around me, praying that Jane hadn't seen my house, my shrine frozen in time.

"What are you doing here?" confusion and a hint of annoyance coated my voice.

"Rigsby sent me." he answered, and I could see his eyes darting through the break between the door frame and the door around me. I could practically smell the grease from all of the wheels grinding in his head.

"Rigsby? What does he want? And why didn't he come himself?" I was hinging between embarrassment and being royally ticked off. This was _my_day, and he ruined it. He got my hopes up and that, at the time, seemed unforgivable.

"He wanted to make sure you were ok, I suppose." Jane shrugged with his arms now behind his back, his curious eyes still looking around.

Sucking up my emotions, I tried my best to be nice and shew Jane away. After all, I had dishes to clean up and self-pity to wallow in. "I'm fine." I lied. "Tell Rigsby I'm fine."

Jane then did something I never expected (and no it wasn't kissing me, what do you think this is, a silly fan fic!). He sniffed the air and grinned, "Hmmmm... is that chicken I smell?"

Darn it. "Yeah. I fried some." _Please go away. Grace, Smile! Make him believe you are fine......._

He gave me that know-it-all look. The look that said _you aren't fooling me._ "Expecting company?"

Yes. "No."

"Ah." He said, rocking back on his heals, looking away from me for just a second. "You know, Grace. You don't strike me as a rude girl, but to be quite honest, it's pretty rude to not invite me in, especially since I came all this way to check on you."

"No one comes in." I said without thinking. I cringed inwardly (and outwardly I'm sure) at the lapse in my tongue. It always gets you in trouble.

"Ah." Jane replied like I had just answered some part of a riddle for him, and I hated both me and him for it. I swallowed hard, willing him to just go _away!_

It was going to be a long night.


End file.
